King
by Drag0nst0rm
Summary: The sidhe fall out of the sky like bloodthirsty rain. A series of oneshots set in my "Emrys" AU. No slash, still don't own Merlin.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Welcome back to the Emrys 'verse! This time it will be a multichapter collection of oneshots, currently projected to have seven chapters. They'll be jumping around all over the place, chronology wise, so be sure to check at the top of each chapter to find out where it falls before you start reading.**

 **Oh, and er, warning for disturbing imagery? I feel like some of this is disturbing imagery. Your thoughts welcomed.**

 **This one is not only pre-Emrys, it's pre-Arthur-gets-Excalibur from Lady.**

. . . . .

The sidhe dropped from the sky like bloodthirsty rain. Church bells across London warned the masses to get behind iron doors, but many would be trapped inside panicking crowds.

And sometimes, if you got behind iron doors, they just ripped through the walls.

Arthur's hand automatically went to his gun. "Guinevere, get inside. Now."

The balcony was wide. It took five steps to get from the railing to the door that led to the relative safety of Arthur's study.

Guinevere made it only two.

One of the sidhe, a twisted, splintered caricature of a man, caught her effortlessly by the arm and swung her around. Arthur strode forward, gun coming up as that thing dodged her fist, but the world was moving slowly and strangely, reality breaking into shards of glass falling into their lives on a slow drip of molasses, and time wasn't what it should be.

When it came back into a fractured focus, the creature's hands were caressing her neck, threatening to squeeze, and she stood frozen in a spell lock. He must have fired a bullet because he could see where it had shattered the window instead of the sidhe's skull.

Then the world focused a bit more, and he felt the bite of a sidhe's blade on his neck.

"He actually managed to get off a shot," she cooed in his ear. Her breath was teased with maddening, dancing magic that made him shiver involuntarily. His throat caught on the blade, and a small spot of warmth seeped up. "I like him. Can I keep him?"

The gun was still held up in a shaking hand. Only part of that was involuntary. If he could just move it enough to get off a shot . . . It wouldn't kill the sidhe, he didn't have right kind of bullets for that, but it might give Guinevere a chance to run.

His own chances he knew all too well.

"The Queen requested him specifically," the man reminded her, and he might as well take the shot now, a slashed throat was preferable to whatever horrors they had cooked up for him as minister of defense.

Just an inch more. Let it shake, pretend your arm's tired. Forget about the screams from the street, forget about the blade at your throat and the magic that's ripping you up like you're a carcass it's picking over. Just breathe.

One. Two.

The magic she had breathed into his ear clenched around his stomach in a blinding coil of agony. He gasped, the gun falling out of numb fingers. The sidhe girl laughed. It sounded like bells.

Every pretty, tinkling note shot another stab of pain into his stomach.

"Oh, you'll be fun. Are you taking the girl, Rhys?"

"Tempting." He considered. "More trouble than she's worth, I think. She's fighting me."

"But those are the best ones!"

He sighed. "Sadly, there's no time."

"Well, get rid of it then and let's go."

Arthur finally caught his breath back. "No - please, just let her go - No!"

His hands were tightening, and Guinevere still couldn't move, and when he tried it step forward, he couldn't breathe for the agony that sent him crashing to his knees.

And then something dark and dangerous appeared on the balcony in a swirl of shadows, and he just be hallucinating because someone with that much power crackling around them shouldn't smell like chocolate.

He could breathe now, tight, gasping breaths. The magic looked like shadows, but it felt gold and familiar, and it curled around him tight enough to chase the other out. A little tighter than necessary, like it was claiming its territory.

Mine, it whispered.

"What," the man said in a voice that made the sidhe seem positively cuddly, "have you done?"

The sidhe stumbled back, the male letting Guinevere go. "Lord Emrys - "

The man tilted his head to the side. "You've hurt them."

"They'll recover," the woman said hastily.

"They will," the shadow man agreed. Only he put slightly too much emphasis on the word "they".

The sidhe took another step back. They were pressed up against the balcony railing now.

The man smiled, sudden and swift and sharp.

The glass of reality wasn't so much shatters as it was pulverized.

When bricks were once again bits of the wall instead of small planets crashing into an earth made of black trench coats, there were two smears of blood on his balcony, and the man was still smiling.

Arthur lunged for his gun and had it up between the man and Guinevere before he could turn around.

The smile turned brilliant and cheery in the space of a heartbeat. "Emrys." He swept a bow that would have disgraced half the court. "If you'll excuse me, the rest of London is still under attack. I expect you'd like me to do something about that?"

"If you don't mind," he managed, gun lowering just a fraction.

The smile widened. "An honor as always, Arthur. I'll be back shortly. We can talk then." The shadows claimed him in a silent moment more intimidating than a thunderclap.

Then the sound of jagged, cut off screams came rushing back like water released from a dam, and Arthur did what he had to do, what he always did, shoving aside everything but the immediate. Get Guinevere into the iron room. Get onto the streets with a proper weapon. Protect the people.

But he could still feel a pulse of warm golden magic that he'd never felt before yet was strangely familiar, and it deflected enemy weapons with whispers of "mine".

Smears of blood and possessive gold and promises of "back shortly" and "talk then".

A threat or a promise, he isn't sure which. He just knows it tugs at him like gravity, a secret whispered in the glint of sunlight across the metal of his weapon, shouted in a child's toy that has no reason to be at his feet.

But he is not his sister. He has never seen the magic in the still places or felt more than a dull chill outside of the Pits. It was a miracle he had felt the sidhe's magic at all, and then only as a whisper. He is blind and deaf to the secrets the trees whisper as he makes his way through the blood soaked streets.

Even he, though, keeps an eye on the shadows, and he jumps when he passes the shattered store front of a sweet shop where the scents of blood and chocolate float out on the breeze.


	2. Chapter 2

**Post Emrys and post Lady. Also: I'm calling this Parliament, but I know almost nothing about the actual parliament, so just put down the many, many inaccuracies to the affects of alternate history.**

"Lord Pendragon, surely you can see the danger in allowing him to roam free."

Arthur's hand twitched to his pocket more as a reflexive response to feeling threatened than as an actual desire to shoot Agravaine.

Well, an actual desire to shoot him fatally.

In front of witnesses.

Until he had sufficient evidence to convict him of treason, that is.

Was it just his imagination, or did the gun actually grow warmer at the thought?

Seeing as it had been given to him by the guardian spirit of a lake and was capable of making itself unnoticeable to the guards responsible for making sure everyone was free of weapons, it wouldn't surprise him in the slightest.

"In the years he has helped us, he has given us no reason not to trust him. Why suspect him now?"

Agravaine leaned forward. "Before, we believed you had some sort of geas on him. Now . . . "

Arthur wondered if Emrys was capable of turning the man into a toad. He looked like one when he smiled. A great, fat, oily toad that they could stick in a jar and toss into the river and watch as it was swallowed by the Pit.

"He remains the most powerful ally we have. We cannot afford to alienate him with unfounded accusations. We need him."

"We need his power," Agravaine corrected.

"It's the same thing."

Agravaine pulled a small, green device out of his pocket. It looked like an overgrown scarab. It wasn't glowing, but there was a pulse about it. Something dark and dead peeking out the edges. "Not quite."

"What might that be, Lord Agravaine?" Lord Aredian inquired.

"A device of rare potency." He smirked. "Our alchemists aren't completely dependent on Emrys, you know. With this mechanism - " He lifted it up and displayed it proudly, turning slowly. "With this mechanism, we will no longer be subject to his whims. His powers will be ours for the taking."

"Interesting."

"And how," Arthur choked out, "do you plan to get it on him? How do you plan to control the power once you have it?"

Agravaine waved him off. "Those are details that should not be widely shared. Who knows if he's watching right now, with his unnatural powers? No, I'm afraid you'll simply have to rest assured knowing it's taken care of. Ah - if the measure passes, of course."

It did.

The gun burned in his pocket, and Arthur's fingers twitched.

The part of town he went to didn't have a name. The street was called Rising Sun Avenue; there two more like it nearby, but it was a pocket more than a full fledged area of town. There were dozens like it all over the city - streets that were more rubble than they were standing after a Sidhe attack, alleys where alchemy bled into magic, shadows where secrets and vice huddled together. If Citadel Square was the heart of the city, and the people were the life's blood in the veins of streets, then these places were infected wounds that smelled like rotting flesh.

Sometimes literally.

He wasn't recognized, of course. He was the minister of defense, and if he'd worn a fine coat and stood in the Square and given a speech, none of the people here would have doubted his identity, but in a long coat torn by storm dogs and stained with blood that was only mostly his own, no one gave him a second glance.

The homes had been grand here, once. Now people rummaged in the ruins or hawked wares with loud voices proclaiming one thing and sly winks hinting at others.

He turned off it into an alleyway that was narrow enough he had to wedge himself sideways. A house half destroyed by mildew and far taller than it was wide had a doorway squeezed in there. He banged on it impatiently.

It didn't take long for his quarry to answer it; you could never be more than a minute or two away from the door in that house, especially if you lived in one of the lower levels.

The door swung open just far enough for him to see a sliver of the man's face and the barrel of a gun.

"Calm down, Gwaine," he said dryly. "It's just me."

"Your ladyship." The gun didn't come down.

Arthur winced.

And not because of the gun.

"Bad time?"

"Very."

" . . . Because?"

"Look, just come back later, okay? I'll give you a discount."

"It can't wait."

"I don't care," he snapped. "Hire someone else if you have to."

That wasn't like Gwaine. Not at all.

"I don't care if you're counterfeiting money in there, I've got bigger problems than arresting you for it! Just let me in."

The gun wavered, but it didn't go down. "I've got a guest."

"I don't care. I'm not going to arrest him either."

"No, you're not," Gwaine agreed. "Because you're going to leave."

Footsteps came from the hallway. "Gwaine, what on earth - "

Arthur knew that voice.

"Emrys?" he blurted incredulously.

"Arthur? Gwaine, put the gun down, you idiot!" Emrys didn't wait for his order to be followed. The gun was abruptly a bouquet of flowers. Purple ones.

Gwaine stared at them.

"You know each other?" Arthur demanded.

"You know him?" Gwaine demanded right back.

"Yes, fine, just - Arthur, just come in already. Gwaine, I'll fix the gun later." He'd never heard Emrys sound quite so frazzled before. Before he could comment, a thin arm had jerked him inside and slammed the door behind him. It rattled in the frame.

The hallway was tiny, and full of more cobwebs and dust than most people's attics. Salt and iron lay in complex patterns everywhere; given what he knew now, he assumed it would work.

Emrys knew Gwaine. If he kept telling himself that, it would make sense. Surely.

"How is one of you not dead yet?" Gwaine demanded.

"We're both idiots, so we decided to be idiots together," Arthur said tiredly, then processed what he'd just said and froze. "Er. No offense, Emrys."

A small smile quirked on the man's mouth. "None taken. Prat." That golden edge that always swirled around him seemed amused, pleased even, fonder than before, if that was possible, and laughing at a joke that only it knew. "What brings you here this fine, drizzly day?"

Arthur hesitated. He wasn't sure he actually wanted Agravaine dead yet. "I was hiring Gwaine to steal something."

Gwaine perked up. "Is it dangerous?"

" . . . Yes."

"Count me in, then, mate. What is it?"

Arthur stared at him for a moment, marveling at the sheer recklessness of the man before deciding he needed to better understand what was happening here before he explained the mission further. He turned back to Emrys. "Why are you here?"

Emrys shrugged. His coat swirled around him. "Gwaine tells me things."

"And I give you chocolate."

"Chocolate."

Emrys looked defensive. "Where did you think I got it? I can't exactly walk into a store looking like this, they'd ring the bells on me."

"Would that work?"

"No, but they make my ears hurt, and I wouldn't get my chocolate."

Arthur stared at him for a long moment. "I used to be terrified of you, you know."

"Ripped the heads off of three Sidhe right in front of me," Gwaine said agreeably. "And then I hand him one little chocolate bar because I figure I'm about to die so why not, and he's just a big, crazy kid with a sugar addiction."

Emrys' grin was wide and showed a few too many teeth, but his eyes were laughing. "It's chocolate," he said, like that explained everything.

It would have been funnier if not for that golden feeling swirling around and around, fond and possessive, going mine, mine, mine.

"So. Stealing," Gwaine prompted. "For which you will pay me a ridiculous amount of money."

The last of the amusement disappeared. Arthur shot a look at Emrys then grimly outlined what he knew.

Gwaine's face grew stiffer and stiffer, and his eyes were furious. Emrys shrugged it off.

"Could be worse," he pointed out. "They could be going after you again."

Gwaine threw his hands up. "Because this is so much better. I'll go tonight."

"I can take care of it myself," Emrys interrupted.

He probably could. He was Emrys, after all. But . . .

But what if that was what Agravaine wanted? What if he was counting on Arthur telling Emrys and Emrys going after it alone?

Gwaine must have been having the same thoughts, because he hid everything else behind an easy smile. "Yeah, but then I wouldn't get paid."

Arthur played along and rolled his eyes. "Because that's obviously what's important here."

There was a tense moment where Emrys considered them and Arthur prayed he would buy it, but then Emrys smiled and he relaxed. "Freya's expecting me. I suppose I shouldn't leave her waiting to go play on the rooftops."

Arthur had met Freya, and he very much agreed with that assessment.

Emrys disappeared in shadows and gold, and Arthur looked to Gwaine. The thief's eyes were dark. "So this scarab thing . . . "

"It's evil and dangerous, and I want it gone where it can't hurt him."

Gwaine, for once, was serious. "Done."

Three days later, there was a note on his desk that said "the Pits" in messy handwriting. Arthur smiled grimly and burned it in the fire.

One week later, Agravaine was still a bit jumpy, and there were bandages all over his face.

Arthur just paid Gwaine what he owed him and didn't ask questions.

Although he might, possibly, have left a rather big tip.


	3. Chapter 3

Of all the weeping wounds that marred London, the Pits was by far the bitterest swell of infection.

Unless they were counting people, in which case that title, and quite a few others of similar quality, belonged to the man who would shortly be known as the late Lord Agravaine.

Or possibly not so short a time after all; Emrys had had quite a lot of practice over the years, he was sure he could draw out ripping the man apart for an appropriate length of time.

 _Yes, yes, yes_ , his magic whispered. So many lovely possibilities. Shadows that tore and nightmares that bit and the fires of a stake that was only in your mind -

Lightning ripped across a sky that shuddered with the roar of near constant thunder.

Bad enough when Agravaine had wanted to take his king's position from him. Bad enough when Agravaine had plotted to steal Emrys from his rightful place at his lord's side.

But this, this was unforgivable. His mouth curled back into a snarl that showed far too many far too sharp teeth as he stalked forward to the entrance of the Pits.

His king a traitor? His king a danger to the country? His king a dangerous criminal to be sent to the Pits?

The skies would rain blood.

Literally, if he could keep it from upsetting Arthur too much.

The door to the Pits was cold and dark with a thousand years of cruel misery, but it shuddered beneath his hand and fell in a heap of scraps not big enough for kindling. The guards, sensibly, had vanished.

The bones of the place were frigid iron, stretching through bricks mortared with a compound that included salt. It lay on magic like a damp blanket on a man half dead with hypothermia, but Emrys was another matter entirely. He wasn't a half dead prisoner tossed here to rot, he was a ball of fire, blood, and rage stalking down the narrow steps into the depths of the city and daring the place to cross him. A millennia-old magic trap, hah! He could tear it apart brick by brick, would if had to, Mordred take the consequences. He was done caring. Let London burn.

He wanted his king back.

A blue light bobbed ahead of him. Things in the shadows scuttled away from it.

 _Mine_ , he snarled into the darkness.

 _Mine_ , the Pits hissed back, sullenly defiant. _They gave him to me_.

 _He was mine first_ , he insisted. _Give him back to me_. The stairs wound on and on, endless as they stretched above red and blue lit pits that echoed with moans and screams and whispers of gnawing things.

 _He tastes good._

 _MINE!_ he roared. The walls shuddered it, the darkness temporarily driven back by a flare of burning, raging gold. Mortar crumbled and bricks rattled warningly. _Or shall I end you, little upstart?_

The stairs grudgingly rearranged themselves.

Emrys continued down. The Pits sulked.

 _It's been so long since I've had a new toy. And the ones they usually bring me are all spoiled. This one was shiny_.

Emrys sent it a vision of himself informing Parliament that the Pits had been soaking up magic instead of suppressing it, and men tearing the place apart brick by brick and melting the iron with dragon fire.

The Pits retreated to sulk in silence.

The stairs curled in sharply and began to lower themselves into a pit.

Emrys gritted his teeth and descended.

The pits were deep and narrow, just large enough for the winding stairs and for a man to curl up at the bottom. It would be impossible to lie straight.

The last stair landed with a clump. Arthur didn't look up. His eyes were closed tightly, and he was shuddering against the cold that seemed so much worse down here. His hands were tight against his ears.

Emrys hissed at the whispers that taunted at the edges of the shadows and crouched beside his king. "Arthur?" He gripped his wrist gently. "Arthur."

Arthur kept shaking. Emrys urged the blue light closer. Dark red streaked through Arthur's hair and dripped onto his face.

He growled quietly. Arthur flinched.

"Easy, easy. It's just me, Arthur. Just me." Arthur'd never been sensitive enough to feel much from the Pits when he was standing outside of them, but it was a different thing entirely to be thrown into them. "You'll be fine." He didn't dare expend much more magic here, but he sent out tendrils of golden magic to wrap around him. "I've got you."

He shook him gently. "Come on, you prat. You've got a few too many belt loops for me to carry you out of here."

Arthur finally forced his way out of whatever nightmares the Pit had forced upon him. His eyes flickered open. "Emrys."

"There we go. Knew you were just lazing about. Come on, now." He kept up a stream of soothing ramblings as he helped Arthur to his feet and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. "I'll help you, come on."

He kept talking as they went, focusing on happy topics like Gwaine's latest exploit and what he planned to do to Agravaine when he caught up with him.

"He'll come after me," Arthur mumbled. "You'll get in trouble - "

Emrys laughed. "I'll be fine," he promised. "And I'll keep him far, far away from you."

His magic itched with bloodlust.

The door opened of its own accord. A carriage rattled across the street and skittered to a brief stop.

"All aboard that's coming aboard," Gwaine said cheerfully from the driver's seat. _He all right_? he mouthed at Emrys.

 _He will be._

He helped Arthur inside. Gwaine urged the horses on.

Emrys sent Arthur off gently to sleep and started healing his injuries one by one. When he'd done what he could, he vanished in a blur of shadow. Gwaine could take him back to the house where Gwen was waiting to take care of the rest. He had business to complete.

. . . . .

A few hours later, he sat in an armchair in the bedroom to keep Gwen company as she fussed over a still sleeping Arthur's blankets. Not in keeping with the rules of propriety, perhaps, but he was pretty sure he broke those just by existing.

Leon knocked on the door and looked in, normally smooth face tight with anxiety he was struggling not to show. "Master Emrys, if I might have a word with you, please?"

He sent a reassuring smile at Gwen as he left. He was back within five minutes.

"What's happened? Is it Agravaine?"

He smiled slowly as he lowered himself back into his chair. "In a manner of speaking." He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair as his smile grew. "It's the oddest thing. An anonymous tip was given to Parliament today about our dear Lord Agravaine, and under the circumstances, I was able to prevail upon them to look into it. And will wonders never cease, it appears that Agravaine, not Arthur is the traitor after all. There'll be a trial, of course, but until then the Pits will have a new plaything." He paused for a moment. "He was gratifyingly panicked. By the time the trial comes around, I shouldn't think he'd be in much condition to defend himself. Arthur's been granted a full pardon, of course. And an apology."

"What did you do?" she breathed.

He looked across to where Arthur seemed to be sleeping a little more peacefully.

"What I had to," he said quietly and sent a small tendril of magic towards him to brush away the last trace of the Pits. "What I had to."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Or "Three Times Emrys Wasn't Allowed to Kill Anyone and One Time He Was** ".

. . . . .

The first few days of recovery went well. It helped that Arthur was asleep for most of them. The sleep was fitful, interrupted by tossing, turning, and delirious whispers, but Emrys soothed it away with a few words and a touch of magic. When he was called away, Guinevere claimed his seat, the soft smell of lavender covering the dark tang of blood that Emrys always left behind.

Once Arthur woke up and was filled in on the details of what had happened, it was a different story.

"I need to get back to work," he told Guinevere firmly.

"You need to rest," she said, frowning at him.

"You're not going back to work for at least another week," Emrys agreed as he stepped from the shadows of the door into the room. Guinevere jumped in her seat.

Arthur just glared at him. "The war's not going to stop while I laze about."

"I'm taking care of it," Emrys said. "Here, sign these." A thick stack of papers was drawn from an impossibly small pocket and placed carefully on Arthur's bed along with a pen.

There was a time Arthur wouldn't have signed anything Emrys handed him without going through the details with a fine toothed comb, but at this point his hand was already signing before he noticed the dark stains on the edge of the paper.

"Please tell me that isn't blood."

Emrys peered at it. His shoulders slumped. "I can't do that."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please tell me you didn't kill anyone."

Emrys perked up. The whole room seemed to warm. "That I can do. I just encouraged him a little."

"Encouraged who?"

Emrys frowned. "This is stressing you. These can wait. You can worry about it later." He tried to take the papers back.

Arthur wouldn't let go. " _Emrys_."

Guinevere came up on the other side of the bed and put a hand on his forehead. "He's right, Arthur. You need to rest. Everything else can wait."

"If I need to sign these, I'll sign them," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm not _fragile_. What's happened?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," Emrys said firmly. "This is just the usual paperwork for your department."

"My usual paperwork doesn't have bloodstains on it."

"That's because you usually don't have to fight Agravaine's toadies for it. They're trying to find evidence to get him off." Emrys smiled. His teeth suddenly seemed very sharp. " _Were_ trying, I should say."

"But no one's dead," Guinevere hastened to add.

"I can change that if you like," Emrys said thoughtfully.

Arthur could feel a headache coming on. "No. No killing people."

"What about sidhe?"

He resisted the urge to throw the papers at him. "You know what I meant."

A tendril of warmth curled around him, easing the burgeoning headache. "Just rest, Arthur. I'll take care of everything."

His eyelids felt as heavy as cold iron. A soft wave of tiredness washed over him. He struggled against it. "The papers," he managed.

Guinevere squeezed his hand. "They can wait a few hours."

"Wake me up then," he ordered as he let his eyes close.

"Of course."

Right before he drifted off, he could have sworn he heard Emrys say, "Or we could just forge his signature."

Which wouldn't have been nearly as alarming if he hadn't heard Guinevere say, "Let's wait and see how tired he is first."

But then he was asleep and dreaming of lavender and gold.

. . . . .

The scent of rotting meat drifted up from the city through the window.

Whatever else it had been, Arthur's first week back had certainly been interesting.

And what did that say about the levels of horror he was used to that a plague that had swept through his city and left her groaning in agony was "interesting"?

Arthur gripped the windowsill tight enough that his knuckles were white. The sickening scent of death on the wind choked him.

"Scent of death." People always said it that way. Shouldn't it be scents, plural, though? There was the smell of a corpse left too long in the summer heat. There was the scent of blood coughed up and left to dry with other, even less palatable, things. There were the sickeningly sweet herbs burned in memory of the dead.

There were sounds too. Keening wails splitting the otherwise terrified silence of the streets. There was the sound of chalk scraping against a door to mark areas where the infected languished. There was the sound of coughs ripping out of a chest thin enough to count the ribs.

There were church bells ringing. Not for the sidhe, the shield Emrys had created still held strong, but to mark another corpse lowered into the bloated grounds of the London cemeteries.

"You should eat something," Emrys said in a low voice behind him.

Arthur turned. "You're back." He frowned. Emrys was swaying where he stood. "You're dead on your feet. Sit down."

Emrys shook his head. "I'm fine." The fact that he had to grab the edge of Arthur's desk in order to stay upright didn't make his argument particularly convincing.

Arthur grabbed his shoulders and maneuvered him into a chair. Emrys grabbed his arm before he could move away. He leaned his head against it. "Just . . . Give me a minute. Just need to catch my breath. Until the room stops spinning."

"Easy," he said softly. "You need to rest."

Emrys shook his head again. "I talked to Freya. She found a way to - " He waved a hand vaguely. "Fix this. More or less. Cure people. I've been out there doing what I can."

Hope leaped up in Arthur's chest, but he pressed it down. "What's wrong?"

Emrys grimaced. "I have to do it one by one. It's . . . tiring." He took a deep breath and looked up at Arthur quickly. "I'll go back out there in a minute. I just thought you should know."

Concern for Emrys battled with fear for his people. "You don't have to do this alone, you know."

Emrys laughed hollowly. "You know anyone else who can do what I do?"

"No," Arthur admitted. "But Dr. Gaius - "

Emrys's smile was bleak. "He doesn't have a quarter of the power I do. He couldn't pull off the spell if his life depended on it."

Arthur stared at him. "He has magic? He's not registered."

Emrys winced.

Arthur shook his head. "Never mind. I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. My point is, Dr. Gaius thinks he knows what's causing the plague. He says his tests indicate there's something in the water supply. A creature of some sort."

"An afanc?"

"He called it something, Amaz- I can't pronounce it. It doesn't matter. The point is, he thinks it's in the water reservoir under the city, and I figure if anything can kill it, the gun Freya gave me can."

Emrys pushed himself to his feet. "Surely Parliament will approve some men to come along?"

Arthur's mouth tightened. "I thought so too. They think it's too dangerous."

The air seemed to crackle a bit. "What do they want to do, then?"

Arthur looked over Emrys again. He could barely stand. "Something stupid. It doesn't matter." If Emrys had been in better condition, it would have been one thing, but between him being dead on his feet and Dr. Gaius's warning about how the monster could steal magic, he wasn't about to risk sending him down there.

"I'll come with you."

Arthur went to pull his gun out of his desk. "Not like that you're not."

"You're _not_ going alone." There was a dangerous glint in Emrys's eyes.

Arthur slipped the gun into the pocket of his coat. "Of course not. Gwaine's coming."

"Because that's so much better."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Emrys." He headed for the door.

"If you'd just wait a few more hours while I got my strength back - "

"If we wait, more people will die."

Emrys grabbed his arm hard enough to bruise. "And if you die?"

Arthur shrugged and tried to look less worried than he felt. "Then you can put 'I told you so, you prat,' on my tombstone."

"Or I could just put, 'This is all your fault,' on the members of Parliament's," Emrys muttered darkly.

"No, this is the sidhe's fault for planting the monster there in the first place. Or Morgana's, or whoever did this."

"I can put it on their tombstones too."

Arthur bit back a groan. "Just - Sit, alright? Sit and catch your breath, and don't kill anyone till I get back."

Emrys snapped off a mocking salute. "Yes, sir, sire!"

At least, Arthur thought it was mocking.

. . . . .

 _The water reservoir under the city was dark and claustrophobically small. The tunnels branched off in a maze of dripping corridors. Gwaine's lantern swung wildly as they ran, bouncing and reflecting off drops of black water._

 _All around, there was a low sucking sound._

 _Arthur fired towards it. Each bullet hit soft, pulsing flesh that exploded like it was hitting rotten meat._

 _Apparently Arthur had misunderstood or Gaius's tests had been wrong. There hadn't been one big monster down here._

 _Instead, there were hundreds of dog sized leeches that left traces of a slime that burned the skin and that had gaping mouths that circled around them in the water._

 _Gwaine fired off a shot that glanced off a slug and ricocheted off the stone. The sound echoed in the tunnels. The sucking sound grew louder._

 _Gwaine's next two hit the slugs dead on. The revolver clicked empty. He had another one up out of his pocket and firing even as he discarded the other one into his coat._

 _"How many rounds do you have in that thing?" Gwaine demanded as Arthur kept firing._

 _One of the slugs leaped out of the water. Gwaine and Arthur shot at the same time. It fell._

 _Right onto the lantern swinging off of Gwaine's arm._

 _The light went out._

 _Arthur fired wildly into the darkness. The sparks from the shot flared like explosions in the darkness before snuffing out._

 _Something brushed his legs._

 _Gwaine stepped back until he and Arthur were back to back. "If you've got any bright ideas, I'm open to 'em."_

 _Something latched onto his leg. Arthur yelled and shot down._

 _The grip loosened. He was just happy he hadn't accidentally shot his foot._

 _"Back to the entrance."_

 _"They were behind us earlier, mate."_

 _"Got any better ideas?" Arthur asked through gritted teeth. He kept firing into the darkness. It wasn't like he was going to run out of bullets. Most hit water. One hit one of the leeches._

 _Gwaine let out a yell. He stumbled back into Arthur and fired. It hit nothing but water._

 _Arthur pulled the trigger of his gun. A beam of sunlight shot out, illuminating the slug circling Gwaine's leg. Gwaine shot it. The light went out._

 _"Where did you_ get _that thing?"_

 _Arthur squeezed the trigger again. Another beam shot out. Gwaine fired at the slugs still circling them._

 _"I light, you shoot," Arthur said tensely. "I've got a spare gun when you run out of bullets. We work our way back to the entrance. We can come back with reinforcements."_

 _"Right."_

 _Something flew out of the dark. It hit Arthur's face with a wet thunk._

 _He was burning._

 _The scream echoed through the tunnels._

 _He pulled it off his face. His hand felt like it was on fire. The slug hit the wall and burst. Blood streamed down his face._

 _Arthur squeezed the trigger. Gwaine fired._

 _Back to back. Towards the entrance._

 _Light. Bullets. Darkness. Light. Bullets. Darkness._

 _He couldn't see out of his left eye._

 _Light. Bullets. Darkness._

 _Something brushed his hand. A strangled cry was ripped from his throat involuntarily._

 _"Emrys!"_

 _But Emrys wasn't there._

Arthur woke up. He wasn't screaming. Pendragons didn't wake up screaming from nightmares. They just breathed rapidly in a manner that definitely wasn't panic.

Deep breaths. In, out, in out.

The burns ached under his bandages. His hand went to them automatically to pull it back so he could peek under it.

"Don't pick at them," a familiar voice said dully. A lamp flickered to life to reveal Emrys sitting slumped in a chair by the bed. The normal fire was gone from his eyes. Instead they just looked shadowed and weary. "I wasn't able to heal them like I normally would. Just enough to stop them from scarring and not much else."

"Gwaine," he croaked.

Emrys stood and poured him a glass of water. "Drink. Gwaine's in about the same shape you are. He'll live."

"Death toll?"

"Lower than expected from the plague. I'm not completely useless," he said bitterly. "Ten of the men Parliament sent in to finish cleaning up the reservoir are dead. Fifteen are injured. Some of them probably won't make it. I would have stopped them but - " He grimaced. "I went out to keep healing as soon as you left for the reservoir. It was stupid, I know. I should have been getting my strength back up so I could help you properly. As it was, I was stumbling more than running when I realized you were in trouble. A couple of Gwaine's friends, Percival and Lance, had to help me out."

Arthur took a long drink from the water glass. "You got us out?"

Emrys laughed. It wasn't a happy sound. "Ha. No. You got yourselves as far as the ladder, but you couldn't go any further. We could hear the shouting, but I was useless." His mouth twisted. "Couldn't even stand up at that point. Lance and Percival went down there and hauled you up. They got a few of the slugs in the process, but I think you and Gwaine definitely hold the record there. It's a miracle you're alive. I nearly thought you were dead when they carried you out of there. I did what I could, but the wounds are magic resistant, and I passed out before I could finish the job." He laughed again. It echoed hollowly in the dim room. "The invincible Emrys felled at last."

Arthur frowned. "You've been holding the shield over the city for over two years now. We've been fighting nearly nonstop. You're allowed to be tired."

"You could have _died_ ," Emrys hissed. "You and Gwaine both. And Parliament just - " He cut himself off and looked at Arthur speculatively. "You said not to kill anyone until you got back. Seeing as you're back now . . . "

"No," Arthur said firmly. "No killing anyone." He sighed. "You're right, though, something does need to be done about Parliament."

"They might listen to you a bit more now. Word's gotten out about what you've done. Between this and everything else that's happened this month, you're something of a hero to the people."

Arthur shook his head. "It won't be enough. Not for long." And with Parliament making one disastrous decision after another lately, a short term solution wouldn't be enough. "You know," he said slowly, "it's been nearly four years since the last election for party leader. In another year, it'll be time for the next one."

Emrys eyes glowed with warm approval.

An idea occurred to Arthur and he winced. "I should probably talk to Guinevere before making too many plans. She's enough in the spotlight being my fiancée as it is."

"She'll be thrilled," Emrys assured him. He leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin. "If something happened to the current Prime Minister, would they hold the election sooner?"

"No," Arthur said quickly.

He wasn't sure if that was true or not, but the last thing he needed was Emrys getting any more ideas.

. . . . .

For all London's darkness, there were glimmers of light. Most of the parties Emrys glimpsed were more shadow than anything, their glitter overshadowed by the venomous whispers and sharp edged knives of betrayal, but this one . . . He smiled. This one was everything the warm light from the chandeliers and the rich scent of the desserts promised.

Gwen whirled by in a stunning purple dress, laughing as she twirled in her brother's arms. Emrys raised an eyebrow at the man who had come up beside him. "Shouldn't you be the one dancing with her?"

Arthur shrugged. "I've been dancing all night. I needed a break. Pass me one of those pastries, would you?"

Emrys made sure to pass on a fruit filled one. The chocolate ones were _his_. "You _are_ the guest of honor," he pointed out. "Elected party leader. Who would have thought?"

"I seem to remember a good many conversations with you that rather made me think you did. You had every confidence in me, you said."

"I have no memory of this whatsoever."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Right." His hand snaked out to grab one of the chocolate pastries.

Emrys snatched it away. "Mine."

Arthur raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

Emrys glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. "Out with it. You didn't come over here to watch me hoard pastries."

"Maybe I just wanted to talk with a friend."

" _Arthur._ "

"How's Freya these days? I haven't seen her since - "

"Since the last time we nearly died. Stop changing the subject."

Arthur watched the dance floor for a few long minutes. He finally sighed. "I _was_ elected party leader, wasn't I?"

"Last time I checked, yes."

Arthur groaned. "That's not what I meant."

"What _did_ you mean?"

"You've . . . interfered . . . in things before."

"I stopped two assassins, three saboteurs, and may have scared off a rival simply by existing, but that's as much credit as I can claim for this. The rest is all you."

A gunshot rang out from across the ballroom. Quicker than thought, Emrys moved. A shield enveloped Arthur. The bullet pinged off it and fell to the floor. He scanned the room for Guinevere. Elyan had shoved her behind him. Gwaine and Lance were pushing their way towards her as well. He sent up another protective shield around her.

"Three assassins. Point stands." He scanned the room before letting the shields collapse. The dancing had stopped. Shrill screams echoed through the room.

Emrys gaze found the man holding the gun. Percival had a gun to the man's head, but the man's face didn't go pale until Emrys smiled. A twist of possessive gold magic filled the room. The other guests backed away from him.

He inclined his head to Arthur. "If you'll excuse me."

An hour later, he slipped back into the ballroom. The dancing had started up again, but he stayed at the edge of the floor and worked his way back to the food.

The information he'd gained buzzed around his head like a wasp. _Mordred_ , the assassin had said. Just a scare tactic, surely, but if he really was sending forces against Arthur . . .

He sought out Arthur on the dance floor and relaxed when he saw him with Gwen. Arthur would be fine. He'd make sure of it.

His magic hummed in agreement, and he shook off the last of the dread lingering on his spine.

He looked regretfully at the last remaining chocolate pastry. He'd eat it, but he still had blood on his hands.


	5. Chapter 5

The house was still standing, but magic was imprinted on every board. Sometimes obviously, where brick had crumbled and carpet had turned to stone, and sometimes just a dangerous hum on the edge of awareness.

The worst of it was on the balcony. There was still an ashy silhouette visible on the door that led out there. There was still a gap in the railing that looked out over the street. There was still a crater just beneath it.

Workers had been hired to clean up the street. So far, they had just poked at the edges of the hole.

Arthur didn't blame them. A tangle of fury and pain and _not welcome_ had been blasted into the stone. It was impossible, now, to separate the feelings of protectiveness and murderous rage. He had tried to stand at the balcony, to force himself to look, but the magical imprint was still too strong.

It seemed too small, all of it. There was a magical imprint stronger than any on the whole island here, and it still seemed too small. Sooner or later, the magic would fade enough for the workers to find their nerve, and then there would be no sign left at all.

No grave.

He sent the maid for a bucket of water so that he could start scrubbing the last remains of the assassin off his door.

If Emrys got no permanent marker, than Mordred wouldn't either.

* * *

 _"You need to be careful. There are whispers that Mordred's come back."_

 _Arthur frowned. The name seemed familiar. "Mordred? I thought that was just a curse you used sometimes."_

 _Emrys' mouth quirked wryly. "All curses have a meaning somewhere in their history, and if anyone could be a curse, it would be that - " He cut himself off and visibly struggled to restrain himself. "I'll take care of it, of course, but you need to be wary."_

 _"Always," Arthur told him._

 _Emrys nodded, but there was still a hint of worry in his eyes._

 _When Gwaine overcame his fear of fancy houses to start hanging around his, Arthur normally would have done more about it than shake his head, but if someone could worry_ Emrys _, then a bit of backup wouldn't hurt, for Guinevere's sake, if nothing else._

* * *

He had known since the very beginning that his partnership with Emrys would end in a death. He had just always assumed it would be his own.

He wished it had been his own.

Emrys had always seemed immortal. Even exhausted and with shadows dug deep under his eyes, even with blood dripping from his arm, even when he'd acted _almost_ normal . . . He'd always seemed as natural a part of the world as magic itself was. A world without Emrys didn't quite make sense.

Arthur scrubbed at the door viciously, but the silhouette refused to wash off. Ash had been embedded deep in the wood.

Maybe he should just have it removed and burned, but that seemed too much like a funeral pyre of old. He could have it thrown out with the trash, maybe. Could you throw something heavy with magical residue into a garbage heap, or was that just asking for trouble?

They'd had enough trouble already. Enough for two lifetimes.

* * *

 _There had been no reason to panic when the young man had rung Arthur's door. Arthur was used to visitors arriving unexpectedly and urgently ringing his door, and if Gwaine and his friends had let this one through, he must be safe._

 _He'd looked normal. Boyish, with thick curls springing out from his head and an old red jacket pulled tight around him against the early spring wind. There'd been no menace there._

 _Except._

 _Except even though his jacket was pulled tight around him, his shoulders weren't hunched from the cold. Except even though the wind was strong enough to have the tree limbs bending, those curls were perfectly in place as if not a breath of wind touched him._

 _Except Gwaine had always been loitering across the street to wink at him when other visitors came, and he wasn't there now. Except, come to think of it, why had_ Arthur _been the one to open the door? It wasn't his job to, he'd specifically agreed not to while Mordred was on the loose -_

 _A light sense of suggestion uncurled from around him like a snake growing bored and slithering off._

 _Mordred raised a gun and fired._

* * *

The glass pane in the door let him see Gwaine approaching dejectedly. He could have refused to step aside and let Gwaine through it, but the misery in Gwaine's face was too close to his own to allow it.

He scooted to the side just enough to let Gwaine through. Gwaine immediately collapsed beside him.

"If I hadn't - "

Arthur sliced the air with his hand in a sharp, dismissive gesture. If Gwaine hadn't been knocked out. If Percival hadn't been keeping an eye on the back of the house. If Lance had come quicker to relieve them. If Gwen had been home. If Arthur hadn't been weak enough to fall to the suggestion.

If, then. If something had been different, then Emrys might still be here. They could pin the blame on any variable they wanted. It was pointless.

"I'm sorry, mate," Gwaine said quietly. Arthur had never seen his eyes so red.

He was the first person to say that to him. Arthur had been the one to tell Gwen the news, so he'd been the one apologizing. Lance, Percival, and the rest were no doubt sorry too, but Arthur hadn't seen them. Emrys' absence had left holes in their defenses that they'd gone to see about patching up.

Patching up. As if anyone could finish what Emrys began.

That was why Parliament was sorry, of course, but they hadn't said as much to Arthur. They'd yammered about plans and losses, as if Emrys' death was _inconvenient_ instead of _everything._

Gwaine was the first to offer condolences, although on second thought, probably not the first to think them.

That had been Emrys himself, right before he fell.

* * *

 _The bullet hit one of Emrys's shields and ricocheted harmlessly to Mordred's left. Then -_

 _Then. Arthur wasn't really sure what happened then or what happened after that, or what happened for the next half hour. Emrys' magic was enough to warp reality; throwing him against an almost equal opponent left reality not so much warped as pulverized. There were seventeen steps up to the second story when it was over, even though before there'd only been fourteen, and there were whispers in the study that it didn't do to listen to very closely._

 _That was after. In the middle of it there was only flashes of gold and blue, demands of_ _MINE, vicious slashes of red, and then, at the end, one moment of shattering clarity._

 _Emrys was the more powerful of the two, but he was also the more desperate, and he'd made a mistake in an attempt to protect Arthur. That knowledge was burned into Arthur's brain like the strange knowing that comes in dreams._

 _They stood on the balcony. Mordred against the door. Emrys pushed against the railing. Arthur in the far corner, his body about to collapse from the overload of the past few minutes._

 _Arthur had been pushed there, he thought, by Emrys' magic. Emrys had pushed him out of the way of one of Mordred's spells._

 _And Emrys had caught the full brunt of it._

 _He hadn't just fallen. If he had just fallen, he would have been back in an instant. There had been light, light that tore away at Emrys' edges like he was made of coal that was being burned away._

 _He'd fallen. Through the railing, burning it away like it had never been. Through the street, with a sound that had crashed unreal against his ears._

 _He'd fallen and he'd turned to Arthur in the half second it had taken him to burn through the railing, and there had been, of all things, an apology in his eyes. Not a casual, wry one, but a burning one for a sin thought beyond forgiveness._

 _Arthur wouldn't have believed it, not for a moment, had it not been for the way some of the pressure that much magic brought suddenly cleared. Emrys wasn't there anymore, it announced. He was gone._

 _And Emrys would never leave Arthur in danger. Not if he could help it._

 _Mordred took a step forward as if to view his work. Arthur was the only other one on the balcony, after all. Human, magicless, Arthur._

 _Arthur who had a gun in his pocket. One given to him by a lady._

 _It was the work of a moment to draw it out and aim. Mordred might have seen it from the corner of his eye, but what did he care? What were bullets to him? Without Emrys by his side, Arthur had only ever been easy pickings._

 _Arthur fired._

 _The gun had never taken the action quite so literally before._

 _When the smoke cleared, Mordred was ash on the door, the gun blazed with fury in his trembling hands, and reality started to settle in, bit by horrific bit._

 _He stayed like that until someone came bursting through the door. His arms, aching as they were, had to be forced down, his fingers uncurled one by one to release the gun._

 _If Mordred had brought an accomplice, he really would have been easy pickings then, but apparently he hadn't._

 _For some reason, that was the moment the smoke finally stung his eyes enough to make tears form._

* * *

There wouldn't be a funeral. There was nothing to bury. But Arthur needed - Something. Closure. If there could be closure for something like this.

He went to the candy shop that Emrys had favored. There was a new kind of chocolate there, imported, and its name was the only thing in the past week that had come close to making him smile.

He set it in on the edge of the balcony railing, right on the left side of the gap.

It was the way he'd called his friend the first time he'd needed to apologize. It seemed appropriate in more ways than one.

And if a bit of foolish hope went into the gesture, well, call him a fool, then. Surely. Surely he could have one more impossible thing, because Emrys being dead seemed just as impossible as him coming back. If one impossible thing had to happen, why not a good one? Just this once.

* * *

It was seven days since Mordred had come. One week. The air had finally begun to clear.

Arthur woke in his study, head bleary, to a whisper of _mine._

He jolted to his feet and rushed to the yet to be replaced balcony door. He shoved it open.

Emrys leaned against the broken railing, an impossibly childish grin on his face, the Merlin's chocolate bunny clutched tightly with both hands.

* * *

 **A/N: To clarify: Merlin's chocolate bunnies are an actual thing. I've never had one, but the name was too good to resist. If you're reading this as Arthur returns, then take it as a sign Arthur finally remembers. If you're reading this as an AU, you can just see it as a nod to the original. If you want to know my thoughts on the matter, feel free to ask in a review.**

 **To further clarify: in the show, Merlin died and came back at least once, probably more frequently. Same thing happened here, only on a different time frame. I picked seven days because seven is sometimes seen as a magically significant number.**

 **And finally: This will be the last chapter of this, and probably my last venture into this AU. I've not entirely given up on Merlin fic, but it will be slow coming from here on out. Glacially slow, unless something inspires me. Thank you all for your support and your reviews!**


	6. Bonus Chapter

**READ ME: Set immediately after Emrys and Arthur's first meeting. Another Twelve Days of Christmas story.**

* * *

Arthur waited on the balcony. The sun had finally given up for the day, and the moonlight hid most of the scars in his city.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I wanted to make sure the sidhe retreated properly."

Arthur spun to see Emrys leaning against the corner of the railing. The shadows wrapped around him like vines around an ancient tree.

He wondered if Emrys knew how fast his heart was beating. "Quite all right. I . . . appreciate your help today."

A bright spark of satisfaction lit the air. Emrys' smile was delighted and not _quite_ human. "I'm always glad to be of service. Speaking of which, I noticed the hospitals are somewhat overloaded. I could put together some healing charms if you'd like."

The latest casualty reports were staggering. The attacks came too often for them to be anything but, and yet -

Nothing in this world was ever, ever free. He knew that better than most.

"I'd have to speak to the Minister of Health to get it approved," he said. "And he's unlikely to approve anything I suggest."

Emrys' eyes flashed. "I can take care of that too."

Even as insensitive to magic as Arthur was, he still felt the surge of outraged possessiveness. It curled around him, claiming him.

 _Mine, mine, mine._

The magic settled around him slowly then tightened when it reached the long gash on his arm that he hadn't had time to treat.

"You're hurt," Emrys said, instantly at his side. "Let me see."

Blood in the water, Arthur thought. He couldn't show weakness.

But Emrys had already pushed up his sleeve and golden magic was already crawling beneath his skin, knitting it together.

Magic and blood were never a good combination according to the lore he'd read, at least not for the owner of the blood.

Emrys frowned. "You have to tell me these things. Even minor wounds can be dangerous untreated."

Arthur couldn't imagine what investment Emrys had in his health unless -

Unless it was already too late for him. Unless without meaning to be he was already bound.

He rubbed his arm where the wound had been. "Thank you," he said quietly and managed not to choke on the words.

If he was already lost, then his people still needed help.

"I'll talk the minister into it," he said. Somehow, he would. He had to.

Emrys watched him. The magic pulled even tighter around him in protective concern. "You're tired. Let me handle him."

"It's fine," Arthur protested. "I'm fine."

But he could feel the magic working in him. Feel his eyelids drooping. He swayed against the railing.

Awake. He had to stay awake.

"I've got you," Emrys soothed. "It's going to be alright now. I'll take care of everything."

The golden magic was so full of concern and care that just for a moment, as he drifted to sleep, he let himself believe it was real. Let himself believe it was just like something else he almost remembered.

The magic spilled into his dreams.


End file.
